Read Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4) Online
Authors: Jenny Schwartz
Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4)
Doctor Wolf
Jenny Schwartz
Liz Jekyll might be the most wanted wolf-were in London—wanted for dating, that is—but she doesn’t take it as a compliment. In fact, it’s a wretched nuisance because Liz has a vital secret to hide. What she needs is a disinterested wolf-were who could pretend to be her boyfriend.
Carson Erving would be very interested in Liz if it weren’t for
Gentiana Aeternae
. The botanist wolf-were from Alabama has found the legendary Elixir Gentian, and ruthless people will do anything, kill anyone, to get their hands on a plant that can grant an extra hundred years of life.
As danger explodes around them, two very independent wolf-weres will have to do the unthinkable and rely on one another. But when Liz’s secret is revealed, who will die?
Table of Contents
The advantage to growing up as the granddaughter of the Earl of Beo was that you knew all the hiding places in the earl’s London mansion. Liz Jekyll ducked behind the peach brocade curtains in the drawing room and sighed with relief. One determined male dodged. Ninety nine to go. She took a sip of champagne.
A hand pulled back the curtain.
Liz slowly lowered the champagne glass. She looked up—and that was a novelty because she was tall and wearing four inch heels.
Carson Erving looked back at her.
“Oh, it’s you.” She slumped against the wall. “Thank God.”
“That’s what my mama says each time I come home safe.” The low Alabama drawl sounded amused.
“I’m sure she does,” Liz replied. Carson was a botanist explorer, renowned for the remote and dangerous places he visited on the hunt for rare plants. Just now, though, he was a visiting scholar-in-residence at Kew Gardens. Ostensibly, he was writing a book about his last expedition when he’d trekked the length of the Carpathian Mountains. However, Liz had her doubts about the veracity of that story. Carson and her adventurous grandfather were too chummy for Carson to be merely writing a book. He was up to something.
Of course, that hint of danger and mystery just made him more appealing to Liz—or would have if she could have afforded to get involved with any man at this point. Which reminded her…“Can you see Brandon?”
Carson took his time answering Liz’s question. It was time well-spent, studying her from the shining smooth blackness of her curly hair, down the curvy silk-covered body to those explode-your-brain long legs and killer black heels. “Brandon, who?”
“Brandon Moffatt.” The smile playing around the corners of her red lip-sticked mouth said she’d caught him checking her out and didn’t mind at all.
It was a game they played. Carson didn’t know why Liz fought getting involved with a guy, but he had his own reasons for not following up on his attraction to her. He forced himself to step back, turning his head to survey the room.
John, the Earl of Beo, had invited everyone and their dog to this end-of-summer evening party. All the staff were weres, a necessity in John’s household where the family were wolf-weres and leopard-weres. Staff who were weres themselves wouldn’t be shocked to find a gigantic wolf lounging on a sofa watching television. Mundane humans would be. But just now, all the weres present—and there were a number among the guests—wore their human forms.
Brandon Moffatt was one of those.
The English financier and wolf-were stood by the fireplace in conversation with three other city types, all mundane. From the shiny crown of his bald head to the tan leather loafers on his short feet, he radiated success.
Carson despised him. However, Carson was also honest enough to acknowledge that much of his antipathy towards the other man was due to Brandon’s freedom to pursue Liz. The man had the advantage of being English and having a life here; an important factor since no man would get Liz to move far from her family. Her Beo Pack was a strong one.
Packless himself, by choice, Carson wasn’t actually a lone wolf. He just wasn’t ready to settle down.
“Do you see him?” Liz demanded.
“He’s by the fireplace.” Carson drank some beer. “And he’s looking this way.”
Liz caught his arm and yanked him behind the curtains. “That’s because you’re looking odd, standing half in and half out of this alcove. If he finds me, it’s your fault.”
“Of course it is.” Carson watched his beer slosh, but stay in the glass. Then the heavy curtain settled around them, trapping him in a dark space with a woman who smelled of roses, disinfectant and wildness. Temptation beckoned, and he tried heroically to ignore it. “Why are you hiding from Brandon, apart from the obvious?”
Her head tilted in a very wolf-like gesture of curiosity. “What would you consider the obvious reason?”
“Uh.” If he answered honestly, he’d only appear a jealous fool. “He’s too short for you.”
A tiny cough of amusement from Liz.
Yeah, he was lame.
Oh, hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the British say
. With the weight of the curtain heavy against his back, he did that juvenile high school trick of bracing one arm on the wall above her shoulder and leaning in—reminding her of his height.
Her head tilted back a fraction and her full mouth curved into a smile.
He was grateful for his wolf vision that let him see her plump, parted lips in the near darkness.
“Brandon’s my height,” she said.
“Too short. You couldn’t wear your heels. And I like those heels.”
“Do you?” Her voice was husky, inviting. She shifted, thighs moving a mere fraction from his. “You don’t think they’re too spiky?”
“I like my women dangerous.”
Liz loved to flirt, and Carson’s deep, slow voice started all the right tingles, if only she had time to enjoy them. A tiny part of her brain was ticking off the seconds for Brandon to cross the room from the fireplace. Of all her suitors—an old-fashioned but apt term—he was the most determined.
She’d strategically selected this alcove for its proximity to the French doors out to the terrace, but Brandon was smart. Chances were high that if she made a dash for the exit, he’d be waiting and she’d dash right into his arms. Sure, you could argue that given Brandon’s deliciously muscular body, running into him was not exactly a problem, but you’d be wrong! The last thing she needed right now was to encourage him.
In fact, she needed to
discourage
him!
And on that thought, she smiled up at Carson.
She had to give the Alabama wolf-were credit: his instincts were excellent. He leaned back.
“What are you—?”
She cut off his suspicious question with a kiss. His mouth was open, so she took advantage, licking along his lower lip. She curled her free hand, the one not holding a champagne glass, around the nape of his neck and rose on tiptoe to fit herself to him.
He gave a sort of growl and crowded her up against the wall.
Oh yeah
. He was all hard, male demand, and he kissed like a hungry angel; the kind who had a massive sword. She’d have giggled at the thought, except she was too busy appreciating the perfection of his mouth and how he used it.
“Liz. Elizabeth.”
Wha-at?
She tried to concentrate her hazy brain. She almost recognized the voice, but then Carson tore his mouth from hers, lowered his head, and gently bit her throat.
She shuddered, excitement spearing through her and one leg coming up on instinct to wrap around his calf. The spike heel of her shoe dragged against his leg.
“Liz!”
No, go away. What? Hell!
“Brandon!” She stared sideways at Brandon as he stood holding the curtain open. The chatter of the drawing room drifted in along with a glimpse of its cream, peach and gilt elegance.
Oops.
Now was not the time or place for…
Carson blew against the tender skin beneath her ear, seriously distracting her. That felt soooo good.
“I realize I’m interrupting,” Brandon said.
Yes, yes, you are. My knees are melting and that’s not all…
“So, leave.” Carson stopped nibbling on her long enough to issue the challenge, and it was a challenge.
Liz crashed headlong out of her sensual daze as reality intruded; a far starker and more primitive reality than the social chatter of the drawing room. Carson’s love bite on her throat might have been as sexy as hell, but it had also been a dominant wolf-were staking a claim.
Carson had no claim on her! Nor did he want one. The two of them had proven that with their dance of attraction and avoidance over the last few months. It was just his instincts kicking in. She was the omega prize in the middle of two male wolf-weres—which was
exactly
the situation she wished to avoid.
Still holding the curtain open—and thereby allowing people to see her wrapped around Carson like a python.
Yikes!
—Brandon began, “Liz, I’ve been trying to talk to you about—”
With a wriggle and a wrench she was out of Carson’s hold. She shoved her champagne glass at Brandon and he took it automatically. Then she was out from behind the curtains.
Double yikes!
The whole of the huge and busy drawing room had quieted and everyone stared in her direction. Even the cherubs painted on the swirling eighteenth century ceiling appeared interested. What had her grandfather’s guests heard? How had the curtain moved and betrayed her and Carson?
She put her chin up, smiled and stalked across the room to her nearest refuge.
Her aunt Natalie gave her a small smile of approval and wicked interest. “Having a good time, darling?”
Liz laughed at Natalie’s dulcet tone. Her uncle’s wife was one of her favorite people.
Natalie was a columnist for a major newspaper and her wit was cutting, but with those she loved, she was fiercely loyal. That didn’t stop her enjoying their discomfiture. Her vivid blue eyes sparkled as she looked beyond Liz to whatever Carson and Brandon were doing.
Liz hadn’t heard footsteps following her, or sounds of mayhem, so she dismissed the two men from the conversation. Faced with social embarrassment, instant amnesia was the best strategy; that, and distraction. “Has Ricky fallen out of any more trees?”
“No. I tied him to his bed,” Natalie deadpanned. Her second son and the youngest of Liz’s cousins was an eleven-year-old trouble-magnet. The last tree he’d fallen out of had been a three-century-old oak on the Beo Estate which he’d been specifically forbidden to climb after lightning blasted it. Seeing his son clambering up it, Uncle Phil had sprinted out of his study and arrived just in time to catch Ricky as a branch cracked and he fell. Ricky collected a couple of scrapes and bruises. Uncle Phil broke his collarbone. And Ricky’s excuse? He’d wanted to be a leopard-were like his cousin Steve.
Steve was Liz’s older brother, and partly responsible for her current problems.
“Actually, Ricky’s on a school camp. Some beginning of the school year bonding exercise.”
“Where are they camping?” Liz accepted an orange juice from a passing waiter.
“An outdoor adventure center called…Treetop Escapades.” Natalie whooped with laughter.
Carson pushed the curtain aside and watched Liz cross the room to her aunt’s side. The two women were a study in contrasts with Liz so much taller than her sleek fox-were aunt-by-marriage. But both women were obviously comfortable with one another and shared a sense of humor. Their laughter restarted conversation in the grand, formal room.
“Walk outside,” Brandon said. The shorter man placed Liz’s champagne glass on a table and walked out through the French doors to the terrace.
Carson debated his options. It didn’t take long. He had no interest in hearing anything Brandon had to say, and as for being warned away from Liz—hadn’t he already decided he couldn’t afford to get involved with her, for her own protection? No, idle curiosity as to how Brandon thought he could warn Carson away from Liz was not reason enough to follow him outside and risk a fight.
The male members of the Beo Pack were on edge, and as a visiting wolf-were and John’s guest, Carson shouldn’t add to the tension.
John, Liz’s grandfather, was the pack’s current alpha, but the earl was old. Although he remained vigorous, especially in mind and spirit, rumor around the pack suggested he intended to step down as alpha. That had started some discreet, and not so discreet, jockeying for position. There were three main contenders as future alpha, one of whom was Brandon.
Contrary to the wilder excesses of novelists’ imaginations, the alpha of a wolf-were pack didn’t have any mystical powers, but he or she did bear a burden of responsibility and influence. The position of alpha was granted by the pack’s respect. The alpha decided rules of were behavior within the pack’s territory. London and south east England were Beo Pack territory, which made it a powerful pack, and its alpha decided conflicts of interest and personal disputes within the territory when they exceeded the abilities of mundane (non-were, non-magical, ordinary) law courts. Some issues of were-nature and socialization could only be understood by another were.
The Beo Pack’s strength was a testament to John’s wisdom as an alpha. He made few demands on his pack. All weres knew the rules of running through London: of staying unsighted by mundanes and respecting mundane laws. Beyond that, John was simply there, an enduring and honored figure who helped clarify complicated situations by listening and trusting the good will of others.
Without John…well, any time of change was difficult. Tensions were running high in the pack, with members assessing the three alpha candidates and trying to determine who would best care for the Beo Pack’s health and future.
And in the heart of that uncertain storm danced Liz, John’s granddaughter, an omega wolf-were, and sister to the new Suzerain.
Carson watched her across the room, aware that she compelled his attention on a personal level, but also aware that his interest was in turn the subject of scrutiny by others in the room. Which was dangerous. He needed to fly under the radar, his presence in London barely noted. Most of all, he couldn’t allow anyone to receive the impression that he and Liz were involved. For everyone’s safety, he needed to present as a lone wolf. Yet he still watched her.
She stood on the other side of the drawing room beneath an eighteenth century painting of an enigmatic beauty, and outshone that classic beauty with her passion and animation. The thin, gentian-blue dress she wore clung to her curves and stopped mid-thigh.
She had felt so good, all woman, and strong woman, at that, in his arms. She’d tasted sharp and sweet, of champagne and strawberries, of hunger and need. His wolf had surged within him. Even now, its silent howl echoed in his soul, calling to Liz’s wolf.
His wolf didn’t care about pack politics or Carson’s private professional concerns, the ones that told him he was no good for Liz; that he’d only bring her danger.
He made himself turn away from her compelling presence. Ignoring the stares of the curious, he set his glass of beer down, shoved his hands in his pockets, and ambled away as if the kiss behind the curtains had been a casual thing.
It helped to remember that Liz hadn’t kissed him out of an over-whelming rush of lust. She’d been aware of Brandon’s likely pursuit and she’d staged that kiss. It had gotten out of hand, but she’d meant for Brandon to find her kissing him.
Did he mind being used?
Mentally, Carson shrugged. What man could regret a kiss like that? But he needed to talk to Liz and he wouldn’t leave till he had. Just as soon as the buzz about the two of them died down he’d find her and tell her that he wasn’t safe to play games with. For her sake, he couldn’t afford for their names to be linked.
He wandered upstairs to the billiards room, and lost three games in a row for lack of attention.
Impatient with himself, he abandoned the failed distraction and went hunting for Liz. Standing on the second floor landing of the main staircase, he inhaled deeply, sorting through the swirling scents of the busy party. He needed to pick up Liz’s most recent scent trail. It wasn’t as if he was going to add to rumors by asking after her direction.
But apparently he didn’t have to ask.
Natalie sauntered up to him. “Liz is about to make a break for it. Three idiots are competing for her attention in the music room. It would be amusing, if they could sing.” On that baffling statement, she descended the stairs.
Music room?
He sniffed the air and turned to the right. As he approached a closed door, the reason for Natalie’s statement became painfully apparent. Three men were singing, each a different song, each off-key.
Carson braced himself, and opened the door. An avalanche of wailing hit him.
Liz sat on a loveseat, her expression a mix of amusement and horror. To her credit, she wasn’t wincing, not even when the youngest male attempt to sing bass, and squeaked. But when she saw Carson, she immediately bounced up. “Sorry. Sorry, guys. But this is urgent.” She grabbed Carson’s arm and hustled him out.
“What’s urgent?” he asked in the corridor. The three men inside the music room weren’t weres and wouldn’t hear him through the door.
“Upstairs.” Liz balanced with one hand on his arm, slipped off her shoes and ran upstairs. “Thea won’t mind if I borrow her room, not in the circumstances.” She added an emphatic, “sssshh”, when he’d have questioned her.
The door of a bedroom closed behind them and Liz slumped onto a window seat. “I’m getting old. Once, I’d have thought that fun.”
Carson couldn’t answer. He was struck dumb by the room’s décor.
Liz laughed at his expression. “This is my cousin Thea’s room when the family visits London. She’s fourteen and going through a Rococo phase.”
And evidently, in an earl’s household, it was possible to indulge a Rococo phase. The room was filled to bursting with extravagantly embellished furniture and gilt-trim. A lace canopy enclosed the bed.
He walked carefully through the overwrought boudoir and stood in front of Liz. “What game are you playing?”